


Undaunted

by Rubynye



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Kink Meme, M/M, Other, Rape, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori tells Bilbo a terrible tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undaunted

It had been a merry evening, the dwarves laughing and joking around a cheerful fire, and Bilbo laughed enthusiastically with his companions. But then, the talk turned to each dwarf's first kill, and while all were listening raptly to Dwalin's gory tale, Bilbo's eye happened to fall on Ori, gone sallow in the firelight. When Fili cried out, "Who's next, whose tale is next!" and the others began calling out names and pointing at each other, Ori quietly got to his feet and vanished; Kili laughed and shouted, "Not you, Master Hobbit, we know you've killed nothing but squirrels for the pot!" and Bilbo rolled his eyes and groaned obligingly as he made the jibe an excuse to slip away from the firelight.

Ori hadn't gone far into the woods, sitting with his back to a tree. Bilbo walked deliberately loudly, giving him a chance to flee, and when he tensed but stayed Bilbo asked lightly, "May I sit by you, Master Ori?"

"Of course, Mister Bilbo," came the reply, polite as ever but in sad and listless tones.

Bilbo sat close and leaned in conspiratorially, hoping to cheer him out of feeling left out. "I'd rather not hear their bloody babble anyhow." Ori was very young, he'd been given to understand, not much older than Bilbo himself, which was much younger in dwarves' reckoning. Having evoked a slight smile on Ori's pensive face, Bilbo went on hopefully, "It seems to me to be no grand thing to take a life."

"It is not," Ori answered, so woebegone Bilbo snorted. But then Ori continued, "It was terrible," and Bilbo went cold all over as he regarded the young dwarf anew, took in his bowed head and folded-up posture, understood his own misunderstanding.

"Why did you leave the fire?" Bilbo blurted, and his heart ached as he watched Ori smile sadly at his knees.

"It's not a tale of pride," Ori whispered, eyes glinting wet in the dimness.

Bilbo swallowed hard, and deliberately tilted so his shoulder touched Ori's. "Would it help to tell it?"

"I don't know, Mister Bilbo," Ori murmured, but then he drew a great breath, and another, and then began the telling.

**** 

How it hurts, Great Mahal it hurts, the thumping strain as one orc brutally takes him, the scrape of the other's clawed hands clutched tightly round his wrists, their cackling laughter over his aching dizzied head. Ori grits his teeth -- he gave them one scream, he'll not loose more -- and clutches at the dusty grass beneath him, striving to endure, waiting his moment.

He longs to let himself thrash, to struggle free of their noisome grasp, to kick away from the scaly grip on his hips and wrench from the clawed manacles, but all struggling won him was the orcs' merriment, culminating when the one behind him, in him, had laughed, "The little worm, how he wriggles on me! He's doing all the work!" Mortification searing his face, Ori made himself still, and now presses his face into the grass till it snags his beard, just for something else to feel than his wrists aching in the cruel grip, than the agony breaking him asunder thrust by jarring thrust. Each blow knocks the breath from him, bruising him deeper than he ever could have imagined, but he digs the toes of his boots into the hard earth, snatches gulps of grassy air, and endures. He's a Dwarf, he's a rock, he can get through this to the right moment.

So Nori told him on one and another infrequent visit home, during their clandestine lessons in fighting while Dori's back was turned. "Fight from your center, let them unbalance over you," he advised; surely he didn't mean this, who could have imagined the depths of orcs' depravity, but Ori uses what he's got, squeezing his teeth together till his jaw creaks as his hips creak under the groaning orc's grip, as he smarts under the speeding rough slams, as the one holding him down cheers with reedy eagerness. Claws prick his throbbing skin as the one behind reaches his peak, and Ori feels tears burn down his face as the orc spills into him, sunk past any scouring, but no, he thinks, grasping breath after breath, flexing his aching fingers. His moment's approaching.

The orc behind slumps back with a horribly pleased groan, dragging free of his battered flesh, the one before lets go to claim his turn. _Now._ Ori shoves himself up, getting a foot beneath him, then another, staggering a step, two, three --

One orc curses, one laughs, claws scrape through his tunic and tug it taut, and Ori windmills, struggling, flailing as hard hands grip him, as scaly arms entangle him. The orcs tackle him and throw him down on his back, one pinning his hands with a stony knee and the other grabbing at his kicking legs. "Thought you'd run off?" Ori hears from the one leaning over him, and the gaping yellow-fanged maw keeps moving but Ori can't hear any other words, just noise beneath his own shouting.

"No, no, get off me, damn you, get off," he yells over and over, as if it can do any good, as if it does anything but bring a ghastly grin to the orc's face as they grab Ori's knees and shove them up and apart.

He thrashes, fighting them as best he can, but they cackle, dragging him where they would; one thumps his belly, and he coughs out all his air and hears as he wheezes, "Lively fish we've hooked today!"

"And all the sweeter for it." The one grips his ankles and hoists them wide, the other leans in over him, the scents of filth and dried blood thick and choking. "What say you, sweet little worm? Give us a kiss?"

With his last desperate strength, Ori wrenches at the grip on his ankles, but he's held fast. He aims and spits right in the orc's eye, but the orc doesn't even wince nor wipe it away, just laughs and slams his hips viciously forward in a crushing shove, knocking a cry from Ori's throat. "Ah, you've made him sing," says the other, and Ori tries to grit his teeth again, he really does, but he can't even hide his face anymore; his chest heaves within him as he sobs, each thrust breaking him open further than the last, his blurred vision filled by the orc's leering face.

Something glints, belted low on the orc's hip. Even weeping, Ori knows a dagger's shine from Nori's lessons. With his wrists pinned he's no hope of reaching it, but no, he can't give up, not now. Shuddering and aching, pummeled and breathless, Ori twists his hands and clings to himself.

"Nnnh, watch him take it." The orc releases his ankle to rub himself, growling, "I'll have another go, I think." Ori tries to kick but can't aim anywhere useful, the one behind him laughs and the one on him doesn't even pay his attempts any mind, eyes clenched and growling in pleasure, riding Ori punishingly hard. But the other shifts, unwittingly easing the pressure on Ori's wrists. "Hurry up, then."

"Bugger off, you've had your turn." The orc slumps forward as he huffs, bending Ori almost in half so he cries out under the pain lancing through him. But the one pinning him gets up to stomp off somewhere, bless Mahal, and though as soon as he moves his arms the one on him grips his shoulders and laughs a puff of hot stinking breath in his face, though he can't stop gasping in pounded agony, Ori knows, if he can just reach… he shuts his eyes and forces himself not to listen as the orc judders and growls through a foul peak, pushing away at everything except reaching that dagger.

His fingertips brush the knob, climb the hilt, grasp and yank. The orc pants unguarded above him, grip lax with pleasure, and Ori breathes and lunges straight up, sighting the chin, skewering the throat. The orc roars, scrabbling at his wrist, but Ori twists and yanks just as Nori taught him, and so much black blood fountains out over his hand as he drags the dagger back. He stabs once more for good measure, slicing the orc's throat open, time seeming to slow as he grapples with the sinking weight. .

The other's running up, bellowing, prick swinging free, and Ori knows what to do, he knows. When the orc's foot lands in reach Ori slashes the ankle's tendon, sending the orc tumbling; scrambling around, one leg dragging, the orc roars as Ori tips the other's carcass between them, and as soon as the snarling face thrusts up Ori stabs right into the ear, the resistance of bone jarring his hand. He shouts and shoves and the dagger sinks to the hilt, the orc's eyes roll up as he twitches backwards, as sharpness pricks Ori's belly.

Ori gasps, letting the orc's weight free his dagger, pushing and kicking free of the corpse, gritting his teeth as its prick slides out of him. The orc's knife sank right through the body, the barest point grazing just above his navel, loosing a trickle of red amidst all the sticky dark ichor. Ori shoves himself onto his unsteady feet, looking down at himself doused in orc's blood down to his squelching boots, his shivering thighs besmeared with their noisome spendings.

He can't go home like this. Defeated, befouled, _filthy_ \-- he looks at the dagger in his dripping hand.

He can't. He must go home. Losing him so soon after Mother would kill Dori. Nori's lessons saw him through.

The dagger falls from Ori's hand, his belly roils till he has to clutch it, but he presses his lips tight and doesn't retch. His trousers are shredded rags, two orcs lie dead before him, if he just stands here swaying he'll fall down beside them. He turns his back on the gory scene, tugs his tunic down to cover himself as best he can, and begins to limp home.

**** 

"And so, you see why I could not darken the campfire with such a tale." Ori sat curled tighter than ever, and Bilbo could but sit beside him, silent with horror as the night creaked and sighed around them. "At least my brothers had to let me come with them, since I had washed out my shame in blood, though I haven't touched a blade since."

Ori sat huddled, plainly still sure the attack stained him, and Bilbo incredulously echoed, "Shame?" as he turned to look at Ori full on. His mouth was twisted in a painful little half-smirk, tears glittering on his cheeks as he stared down at his knees, and furious admiration loosened Bilbo's tongue. "I heard no tale of shame, except upon foul creatures who --" He stumbled there, but Ori's eyes were widening to roundness. "Who were despatched much less painfully than they deserved!" Ori glanced up, eyes shining, and Bilbo plowed on. "I heard about courage that wouldn't give in, of a brave dwarf undaunted." Ori's back was straightening, his smile untwisting, and Bilbo tried to think of what a dwarf would do and dared to slap his shoulder, hopefully rousingly. "A noble dwarf whom I'm honored to travel with, to share this company with."

With that Bilbo floundered to a stop, but he'd managed to hit somewhere near his mark, as Ori's smile spread across his face; he opened his mouth as if he'd speak, then gave up, wiped his eyes on his sleeve and gathered up Bilbo's hands to squeeze them. Bilbo tried to nod sturdily, and to not wince at Ori's strong-fingered enthusiasm, and Ori nodded back, stood and tugged Bilbo to his feet.

With wordless assent they turned back to their companions; Ori seemed lightened in heart, Bilbo certainly hoped so, but as for himself he glanced back towards the darkness beneath the trees. He'd learned a new and horrifying possibility for the peril he'd chosen, but all he could do, he told himself, was to be as bravely tenacious as Ori had been, whenever his danger arrived.

That would be a high-water mark of courage indeed, Bilbo thought, considering anew their polite, unassuming young scribe as they stepped back into the firelight.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Prompt:  
>  _Non-con, violent_  
>  Rape where the victim fights with all they have. Kicking, screaming, biting, almost but not quite getting away. Bonus points for the rapist (not an elf or one of the company please) really getting off on it.
> 
>  
> 
> _Would prefer the victim to be Bilbo, Bofur or Ori._
> 
>  
> 
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=12673981#t12673981


End file.
